BREW

Tuesday woke up to a sterile white ceiling. The room around her was just as blank—walls smooth and unmarked, a single bed, and nothing else. It didn't feel like a hospital. It felt like a lab.

A faint hum came from the fluorescent lights above.

She tried to sit up and realized she was still holding something.

The coffee cup.

Still warm.

Not a single drop had spilled, even after… whatever happened.

Before she could process anything else, the door hissed open. A figure in a lab coat entered swiftly, clipboard in hand.

"You're lucky," the nurse said without preamble. "Most people with no training don't walk back from a fissure alive."

Tuesday blinked. "Fissure?"

The nurse didn't answer that. She gave Tuesday a quick examination, hands moving efficiently over pulse points and visible injuries. Her voice was clinical.

"You're inside Maharlika Vanguard's Diliman base. You probably don't understand what that means, but someone higher up will explain soon. My job is to assess your physical state."

Tuesday didn't respond—she was still staring at the cup. The liquid inside shimmered unnaturally, yet stayed still. Almost like the cup refused to spill.

"You have no major injuries. Just a few abrasions and signs of psychological strain. Standard protocol restricts interaction for safety reasons, so you're being monitored. Water will be provided."

The nurse placed a plain cup of water on the floor and, without further word, left the room.

The silence returned. Oppressive.

Tuesday hugged the cup close. Her memories were scattered, foggy. She remembered the gym… the restroom… the strange cold air. Then—ghosts?

She heard footsteps.

The door opened again, this time slower.

Armed soldiers stood on the other side. One stepped in.

Tall, composed, with a neatly pressed uniform. No insignia, but the way the others stood back told her this was someone important.

Anthony.

He stepped inside, expression unreadable.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Tuesday looked up, voice cracking. "Am I real?"

Anthony didn't blink. "You are. But right now, you're categorized as a high-risk anomaly-adjacent civilian. That means you're being treated as a potential threat until we understand more."

He sat across from her, unbothered by the tension.

"If you want this to go smoothly—and regain your freedom—we need your cooperation."

Tuesday gave a faint nod, still clutching the coffee cup.

"Let's start from the beginning. How did you end up here?"

"I… I'm not sure," she said. "We were doing varsity training at school. I went to the restroom to change, and then… everything changed."

"Changed how?" Anthony asked, tone neutral.

"The air got cold. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. Then… then ghosts started appearing. Dozens of them. They weren't just floating—they were looking for me."

Tuesday's fingers tightened on the cup.

"I ran. I didn't stop to look back."

"Did someone help you survive?" Anthony asked.

She hesitated. Her voice trembled. "I-I think… it was a ghost."

Anthony raised a brow. "Explain."

"I ran until the scenery changed. I ended up in a ruined neighborhood that looked like my hometown, but… twisted. It smelled like burnt sugar and old wood."

She swallowed hard.

"I hid. But one of them still found me. He… he didn't look like the others. He didn't chase me. He… talked, but I didn't understand the words."

"And then?"

"He gave me this." She lifted the coffee cup. "It had my name on it. It hasn't spilled since."

Anthony leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"What did he look like?"

"It looked like a barista. It wore an apron and had a cart—like a vendor's cart. But it had no eyes. Just… a blank face. And on the cart were metal cups."

She hesitated.

"Each one had a name. I think… I think they were names of people it killed."

Her hands were trembling now. "And then I saw my name… written on one of the cups."

A beat passed.

"Before I knew it, I was holding this cup of coffee, and it left me. Just walked away. I wandered until I saw a moving armored car… and collapsed."

Anthony was silent for a long moment. Then, finally:

"All right. We've already reviewed your background—Tuesday Flores, correct?"

She nodded slowly.

"You only have a few options. Normally, people who cross into our world awaken a spiritual trait. You're no exception."

He stood.

"Your choices are: enlist under military observation… transfer to the research division as a monitored civilian… or be executed on the spot."

Tuesday's breath caught. "What?"

"This isn't personal," Anthony said flatly. "It's protocol. Crossovers disrupt the balance. The fact you returned alive means you're already abnormal."

Her voice broke. "I-I'll join you."

Anthony stood up, adjusting his coat. His voice was level, rehearsed—but there was a faint edge of urgency beneath it.

"All right. You'll be assigned to a supervisor who will help you understand your duties as a trainee under observation."

Tuesday nodded faintly, still overwhelmed.

"And that cup—keep holding it. Don't lose it. No one else can carry it except you."

Then, without another word, Anthony turned and left the room, followed by a formation of silent, armed personnel. The steel door sealed behind them with a quiet hiss.

Tuesday sat alone again, the warm cup still steady in her trembling hands.